Miscalculations
by Michi Mitsurugi
Summary: He watches with wide eyes as she steps off the premises. He had just unwittingly let a challenge fall through his hands. Someone with the mental capacity to overcome him – To actually best him at his own game. Gameverse. Oneshot.


**Disclaimer**: Don't own pokemon.

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><p>He was not one to fight. Throton, that was. Yes, all the rental pokemon he had taken care of were his, every single one of them raised by his hands and his alone. He was kind (as hard as that was to believe by some) and when he became Factory Head, posed a challenge to trainers: He would lend them his own pokemon and see how far they could go, if they could defeat the trainers he had hired to pose as barriers. He wanted to see who could beat them, who could stand out, who would be the one to gain his attention after years of refining and polishing the rules he imposed.<p>

Most were foolhardy trainers way over their heads. They only relied on brute strength to get them through battles, making the Factory Head roll his eyes in disgust. Strength was not his strong suit. He could easily beat these trainers with an under leveled pokemon if need rise. He did not need strength; only strategy. He knew pokemon inside and out and had studied which pokemon knew what moves. After mentally cataloguing every pokemon with every type of moveset, he would plan accordingly. An Arcanine could easily beat a Kingdra, if only the trainer knew what moves to use instead of relying solely on pure power.

Some trainers had managed to understand what Thorton had wanted and had tried with the best of their knowledge to best the trainers, and even a fraction of these few managed to face him. They were easily disposable, however, and he was left alone again with no one willing to take up his challenge. These heathens didn't want to think, didn't want a challenge; only sought to win, to be the strongest.

That is, until _she _showed up.

It was blow after blow after blow when she walked through the doors of the Factory, knowing that his employees would take care of her pokemon while she chooses three of his. He watched through live video feeds as she, for the lack of a better word, _obliterates _every obstacle in her path without even batting an eyelash or breaking a sweat. After her seventh consecutive win, she is rewarded with battle points and with a pout, she leaves, her pokeballs back on her belt.

He watches with wide eyes as she steps off the premises. He had just unwittingly let a challenge fall through his hands. Someone with the mental capacity to overcome him – To actually best him at his own game.

And there she flew, away from his grasp.

He mourned his loss and went about his business, but the girl with determined eyes never left his thoughts alone. He wondered how she would have reacted if they had actually battled, what moves she would have used and what pokemon she had borrowed. He wanted to take note of her battling style, wanted to burn every single detail into his mind so that he would never forget the girl that had simply walked away from his challenge.

The next day, she shows up once again. She picks different pokemon, fights different trainers, and once again blows past them as if they were leaves in a storm. He is too preoccupied by the heat of battle, how she takes down her opponents' pokemon one by one and once it's over, it is then he realizes he had completely forgotten to note the moves she used or even her pokemon. She continues on to the next trainer and he is left with an odd feeling. He wants to take her on, wants this challenge and wants to put his questioning thoughts to rest after having them float about his head for so long.

Green eyes catalogue careful steps down the metal railways. She is remarkable. She analyzes just like he does, thinks clearly just like he does, and commands her pokemon remarkably similar to how he does.

But she is not him, and the thoughts loop over and over again in his head.

It was a never-ending cycle with her. She comes and goes in the building, but she stays in his mind and never lets go of the little pink brain cells that processes information. The ghost of her haunts him, nearly taunting him with premeditated words of victory that make him bristle and shiver because he doesn't know, and not knowing for him is the worst feeling in the world. He cannot say for sure who has already won the battle even before they had battled.

And this vexes him to no end.

He knows who the victor is when his opponent walks through those doors. He knows that every single time, he will be the winner even before they throw their first pokeballs. The battle, in his mind, is over before it begins, and every single time his hypothesis is proven true.

But her confidence throws his calculations awry.

She shows up for a third time, chooses her pokemon, and promptly annihilates the same trainers.

Again.

And again.

And _again._

And **again**.

By this point, his heart is racked with palpitations. He's been watching and watching and watching and she battles, never once wavering in her resolve. His trainers bunch up around him, eyes tearing up and defeat evident on their faces. They are not used to losing and they look up to him to put this unknown trainer from Arceus-knows-where down forever, and he is unsure if he can fulfill their wishes. Not knowing what will happen when these two powerhouses converge sends waves of trepidation throughout his body.

He doesn't know. He doesn't know what will be when they face each other and for once, he doesn't want to know. The unknown terrifies him but he ignores his trembling and picks up the blue handheld device he had created in anticipation of their meeting. He had programmed it to do the very job he could not while his emerald eyes were watching the girl: Determine what kind of pokemon she was using, their movesets, and take notes on how she battled.

With the device in his hands, he pulls off the three pokeballs from the chrome conveyor belt, clicking them onto his belt and makes his way to the arena. The doors open and lights shine down and he takes his side of the field, watching the steel doors at the other side opening. As predicted (_for once _he thinks thankfully), she appears, marshmallow white sun hat bobbing up and down as she bounced to the other side of the stadium, almond eyes bright with energy. She wore a red sweater covered by blue overalls with matching red shoes. White tights adorned her, reaching up to her thighs; had a tan bag slung over her shoulder, and her brown hair was in odd pigtails, curved upwards toward the sky above.

She was much smaller in person, making the pounding in his heart ease. Maybe he stood a chance. _Maybe. _Wordlessly, he held up his device and pointed it towards her, the machine making an annoying "_bzzzt_" sound. The pokemon she held easily showed up on the screen before him and he looked back up at her. The girl raised an eyebrow and awkwardly smiled at his antics. The palpitations began again.

He decided he would at least tell her what he was doing. She deserved to know that much. "Ah, don't mind me," he smiled, pushing buttons like reflex on the machine. When was the last time he smiled like this? "I invented this little thing myself. It tells me what pokemon you're using for this battle. I've got to say, you've got a good set-up."

Her smile disappeared, replaced with a look of inquisition and a frown. "So… you're cheating?"

Thorton froze for a moment, trying to regain his composure. "N-No! It's not cheating! Would it have mattered? I would have known what pokemon you're using when we battle."

She supposed it was fair. She knew what pokemon he had after all. He pocketed the device and in its place, brought out a pokeball. "May I have the privilege of knowing your name?" _Because I'd like to know the name of the person that has come this far; the name of the person that sends shivers down my spine._

She relaxed slightly, taking out one of her pokeballs. "Only if you tell me yours first." The Factory Head laughed now, spinning the red and white ball at the tip of his finger. "But I asked first," he chided, smirking. He liked playing this game of hers. He was willing to dance her little dance, pulling her close just as much as she was pushing away. The repelling and attraction was just what he liked; they were dancing a magnetic dance.

The brunette puffed her cheeks indignantly but caved in nonetheless. "Lyra. My name's Lyra."

"Lyra…" he echoed, tasting the name. He liked it. It was uncommon, matching her perfectly. "Well, Lyra, my name's Thorton. You'd best remember it, too, because it's a privilege. Not many people know it."

The two trainers smiled and for the first time in a while, the Factory Head felt alive, as if the dim flame inside him had intensified. He tossed his pokeball and the girl followed suit.

He was going to _savor_ this battle.


End file.
